


Fine

by betsybo



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bodily Functions, Deals with the Aftermath of D & A, Eating Disorders, Episode: s05e05 Demons and Angels, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsybo/pseuds/betsybo
Summary: After the events that take place on the LowRed Dwarf, Lister may be suffering more lasting damage than he’d care to admit.





	Fine

**Author's Note:**

> So... the Angst Bunny bit me. In case it's not clear, this fic deals with the events of 'Demons & Angels' (Series V, Episode 5). It takes a closer look at what happened to Lister (but doesn't really add anything to what we see on the show), so be prepared for some woobie!Lister because that boy really suffered during that ep. And I understand from a comedy point of view why they ended it the way they did, but it is a very dark ending, I think.
> 
> The eating disorders tag is there because Lister will have some difficulties with eating as a result of the tarantula incident. If anyone can think of a more appropriate tag or name for these problems, please advise me, but I did think it wise to warn. This fic may not be that long, but if any of the subjects tagged are sensitive to anyone, they may want to steer clear.

It was a nightmare come true – something from one of the horror films that Lister would watch with the Cat on weekend nights. He was back in that filthy Science-bay with all the Lows. Trapped; unable to move of his own free will. Helpless.

 

Lister’s neck snapped to the side again, his stomach churning as his own hand was made to slap his face repeatedly. The others sniggered. Whenever his head was forced in the right direction, he could see their awful grins. The Cat’s sharp teeth; his hands on the controls. Their eyes watching his debasement eagerly.

 

He was in pain, he was exhausted, and the humiliation was being made all the worse because it _wasn’t_ the Lows doing it to him now – it was just the Cat, Kryten and Rimmer. Even Holly was just watching it happen. His friends.

 

‘ – C-Cat – !’ he gasped out pleadingly.

 

‘This thing’s cool!’ cheered the Cat, forcing Lister to jump up and fall back roughly into the chair.

 

‘Stop!’

 

‘Come on, Listy,’ said Rimmer mockingly. ‘It’s just a bit of a laugh!’

 

Lister panted harshly as every bit of sore skin and aching muscle was jostled by the impact. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through it; to block out the hurt of these unnatural sensations and the sheer humiliation of them. He was too hot now. He was dizzy. He was sure he could feel something – a tarantula leg wriggling inside him. There was something acrid-tasting at back of his throat; rising and bubbling up.

 

‘Guys – ’ he wheezed in horrified realisation. ‘Guys, I – !’

 

His body lurched – independently of the Cat’s control – and then he was vomiting down his front, across the control panel in front of him, and all over the floor.

 

‘Oh, smeg!’ yelled Rimmer over Lister’s retching. ‘Take that thing out of him!’

 

‘Dude!’ the Cat hissed, twisting as far away from Lister as he could get.

 

Lister flopped uselessly back into the chair, shivering. He barely registered being urged forwards, or the sting as the implant was removed from the left cheek of his backside. Suddenly able to move again, he sat back, bringing his trembling arms around himself.

 

Blearily, he opened his eyes. Tears poured down his face, mingling with the sweat there. He felt the hot burn of mortification as he noticed that his vest, trousers and the right arm of his shirtsleeve, were all drenched in sick.

 

‘Oh, Mr. Lister!’ said Kryten mournfully.

 

Lister couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at any of them. He didn’t want their pity or amusement or guilt – whatever they were feeling. He didn’t care. He needed to get away from them. He wanted out. Now.

 

Pulling free of Kryten’s attempts to help him up, Lister got himself to his feet and staggered out of the cockpit.

 

‘Oh, well done, you idiot – now he’s decorated himself and the inside of  _Starbug_!’ he heard Rimmer roaring at the Cat, and cringed.

 

‘Hey, you were having as much fun as I was!’ the Cat retorted.

Lister’s body felt like lead, but he managed to force himself up the stairs to the living quarters. He thought he could hear someone following him, and it made his heart seize in terror. He reached the toilet, slamming the door shut and bolting it manually with shaking hands.

 

Bracing his arms on the toilet seat, Lister heaved again. It seemed that he’d regurgitated the majority of his stomach contents into the cockpit. Great.

 

 _‘Are you okay in there, Lister?’_ came Rimmer's voice, obviously trying to keep his tone offhand, but there was a hint of something else there, too. It made him sound strange.

 

There was a soft knock on the door then, and Lister flinched.

 

 _‘I’m sorry, buddy!’_ came the Cat’s call. _‘I didn’t know you were sick, I swear!’_

‘ – I – I’m fine!’ Lister called out, wincing at his own pathetic, stammering voice. ‘I just – need a minute.’

 

Then he heard heavy footsteps, and Kryten’s voice.

 

_‘Sirs, I think we should escort Mr. Lister to the Medi-bay immediately upon return to Red Dwarf.’_

Oh no. He wasn’t lying on any tables or benches so that those three could stand over him. Looking at him. Not now, not ever.

 

Lister stayed where he was on the chilly floor for a while, just able to make out snatches of muted conversation:

 

_‘...did you see anything?’_

_‘No. I thought he...’_

_‘Should we...?’_

_‘I don’t know.’_

A few minutes later, he felt the ship dock, and the Cat’s voice rang out from the other side of the door.

 

 _‘We’re back, bud!’_ he called. _‘You can come out now!’_

 

Right, thought Lister. He needed to go. He couldn’t stay the night on _Starbug_. Not shaking and cold as he was now, and reeking of sick and urine – Smeg! When had he pissed himself? Perhaps when the Lows had been having their fun with him, or even when they’d knocked him out. He could hear all the doors on the ship opening, ready for them to leave.

 

Lister tentatively got to his feet, grunting at the throbbing pain it caused in his groin. He turned on the tap over the little sink in the corner, grimacing as he caught sight of his reflection above it. He swung the mirror around so that he wouldn’t have to look. He splashed some water onto his face, and let the water run over his sodden sleeve, getting the worst of it out. He then carefully washed his hands and dried them on a ratty old towel by the basin. His palm was still sore from where the Lows had forced him to crush High Rimmer’s light bee.

 

There was no trace of High Lister’s blood left on his skin, but he still remembered its warmth; its metallic, cloying smell and rough stickiness as it had congealed. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as nausea swept over him again.

 

It was finished. His counterpart would have ceased to exist no matter what happened. The poor git had been so at one with the cosmos he hadn’t even noticed he was mortally wounded. And yet Lister could see the light fading in his eyes even now, as the guy had apologised to him – to _him_ – for dirtying the knife that killed him.

 

Finally, Lister opened his eyes, and reached for the lock.

 

When he emerged, they were all staring at him. Their three, painfully familiar faces, which they shared too closely with their Low-selves for comfort. Kryten looked worried, Rimmer – well, it was hard to tell, but he was frowning, and the Cat had look of uncomfortable remorse on his face. And Lister couldn’t bear it.

 

‘ – Better get meself cleaned up,’ he said with a fixed smile at each of them, and then legged it along the narrow hall, down the stairs and off _Starbug_ as fast as he could.

 

Getting back to his and Rimmer’s quarters felt as though it him took forever. The corridors seemed to have stretched – and maybe they had. Perhaps it was some kind of lingering after effect of this mess they’d caused. When he finally arrived, shivering and limping, he rushed into the bathroom, locking the door firmly again.

 

He stripped off his vest and shirt as fast as he could, before pausing when he realised the next part was going to hurt. He sobbed quietly when he finally peeled his trousers and underwear away from his skin. It didn’t look too bad down there, but the flesh was still raw, tender, and blistering slightly at the juncture between groin and thigh. He was almost tempted to forgo a shower after all and just wash where he needed it most in the sink or standing over the bath, but couldn’t stand the thought of going to bed without one. The desperation to get the sick and the sweat and everything about _today_ off him was overwhelming the fear of more pain.

  
He removed the rest of his clothes gingerly, throwing them into the laundry bin (leather vest and all) and started the shower up, making sure it wouldn’t be too hot. Before getting into the shower stall, he clucked his tongue and pulled a face. His mouth still tasted of everything he’d thrown up. He looked at the sink. Should he brush his teeth first, he thought? The shower was running full pelt, already nice and warm. He took a deep breath. He just wanted to be clean, inside and out.

 

He ended up taking his toothbrush into the shower with him, massaging shampoo into his scalp while he scrubbed at his teeth diligently. When he’d spat the last of the toothpaste out and watched the white foam swish away passed his feet and down the plughole, he stuck his arm out of the stall to throw the toothbrush into the bin beneath the sink.

 

He didn’t know how long he spent washing himself. He didn’t care. His sensitive crotch smarted horribly as he rubbed soap everywhere. He even grabbed the nailbrush he often forgot existed and worked on the nails of his hands and feet. He devoted time to his back, under his arms, his ears, even between his legs where the sting had him biting the flesh of his arm.

 

When he was finally as clean as he could be, he stayed beneath the warm spray for a while longer, hugging himself again and staring at the misted-up glass in front of him. Slowly, he reached for the shiny valve and twisted it off.

 

‘That’s better,’ he thought. He could do this. He was okay.

 

The cold swept in, setting off the sorer injuries once more, and he stepped out to make a beeline for the cupboard. He grabbed a big, clean towel, kept warm by the hot pipes at the back of the closet, and wrapped it around himself.

 

He dried himself off gently, realising he’d left his antiseptic cream in his bunk.

 

 _‘There are clean clothes for you here, sir,’_ came Kryten’s worried voice through the door, making him jump.

 

‘ – Great – cheers, Kryten!’ he replied, trying to keep his voice sounding normal.

 

_‘When you’re ready, I really think we should get you to the Medi-bay.’_

Lister shook his head.

 

‘I don’t need a check up,’ he said firmly.

 

_‘ – But Mr. Lister – !’_

 

‘I’m _fine_! It’s... it’s over.’ He shut his eyes, feeling slightly bad for snapping. ‘I’ll... clean up the _‘Bug_ when I’m done in here.’

_‘Oh, no, sir. I’ve already seen to that.’_

 

‘...Thanks, man.’

 

Lister tightened the towel around his shoulders. He was glad he wouldn’t have to return to _Starbug_ tonight. Outside, he could hear the other three start up more hushed discussion. He couldn’t make out enough of it, but he could tell who was speaking; Kryten’s precise way of talking; Rimmer’s wry drawl; the Cat’s soft, hissing whisper. He wished they’d stop speaking. It was too easy to imagine it was _them_ on the other side of the door, trying to decide what they had in store for him next...

 

Lister opened his eyes, taking in the white door. He didn’t want to leave while the others were still out there. He didn’t have the strength even to ask to be left alone; to wave away apologies or refuse to divulge what had happened to him. He turned and sat down on the fluffy mat in front of the radiator, and began running the towel along his dreads slowly.

 

 _‘You’ve been in there an awful long time, Mr. Lister!’_ said Kryten. _‘There’s dinner here for you, if you’re feeling up to it.’_

 

Smeg. Not food. Right now he didn’t want to eat anything else ever again. He wanted to keep his body empty and clean. He knew he wouldn’t last; eventually he’d become hungry again. He knew that the body of the Low Lister disappeared not longer after the duplicate _Red Dwarfs_ did, and so it was entirely possible that any remnants of the tarantula had now gone too. It would be as though he’d never eaten it at all. But he wasn’t about to check by asking Kryten.

 

‘That’s brilliant, man, you can go now!’ he called out tiredly.

 

He wished they’d all just leave him alone. It wasn’t their fault, really. They didn’t know what had gone down on the Low ship. They didn’t know he was hurt. And they _wouldn’t_. He didn’t want them to know.

 

He looked up at the door again. He didn’t _have_ to go out there. He could stay here and kip in the bath – there were more than enough towels to pad it out. It would be a little damp, but he’d be plenty warm. This was stupid. He was alive and safe, his friends had made a simple error of judgement that had hurt him, but it had been a mistake – and where was he? On the floor, sucking his thumb like a baby. He hadn’t even noticed starting.

 

Some time later, Rimmer called out to him.

 

 _‘Lister – Kryten and the Cat have gone...’_ he said, sounding hesitant.  _‘I’m going to bed now. Are you sure you don’t need help?’_

‘I’m really okay,’ said Lister ‘Thanks, man. Night.’

 

_‘...Night.’_

 

Lister waited another few minutes before opening the bathroom door. He didn’t look into Rimmer’s bunk, fearful that if the guy was still awake and they made eye contact he’d try to talk to Lister about things. He carefully climbed the first two steps of the bunk ladder in just his towel, and grabbed his dressing gown from where he’d thrown it that morning. He then opened the little side drawer in the wall, and removed the tube of Savlon he kept in there, before climbing back down and returning to the bathroom.

 

He shrugged off the towel, and squeezed out a little of the cream onto his palm. He let out a small gasp as he began to rub it over his sensitive flesh. When he was finished, he pulled on his dressing gown and left again.

 

He paused when he saw Holly’s face peering at him from her screen. He hesitated, nearly running back out of sight, but she just gave him a soft smile. Her gaze flitted towards Rimmer’s bunk before turning to the table, where a covered dish sat, obviously untouched. She looked back at Lister to mouth, ‘You okay?’

 

Lister gave her a small nod, and moved to clamber into his bunk. He could tell Rimmer was awake, because the room was too quiet. As quickly as he could, he struggled out of the dressing gown and pulled on the boxers and vest he’d left crumpled beneath his pillow that morning. He really want to grab the fresh clothes Kryten had left on one of the chairs by the table, but didn’t want to cross the room again, where Rimmer and Holly would be able to see him. He wriggled under his covers, wincing as his skin and muscles pulled in various places. His cheek and jaw ached against the soft pillow; they were likely going to be bruised tomorrow.

 

‘ – Lister,’ said Rimmer suddenly, and Lister froze.

 

_‘Hello, my pretty.’_

 

‘Goodnight, Rimmer!’ he said breathlessly, and rolled over to face the wall.


End file.
